


ephemeral

by lipgloss



Category: UNIQ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 23:37:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4724471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipgloss/pseuds/lipgloss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sungjoo and Wenhan sings, they lose a bit of sanity. When Yibo dances, his soul dies a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ephemeral

**Author's Note:**

> to [ayumy](http://www.twitter.com/kimsinjoo) with lots of my love. bg music is included in the story. enjoy.  
>  **warning** drug usage and slight gore content hinted
> 
>  
> 
> ephemeral (əˈfem(ə)rəl) - short-lived

This is a grey world. A life of void souls and straight posture. Decaying and joyless.

They did not fit in.

...

 

[jaymes young-moondust](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xs8aAaO7OFU)

 

Sungjoo stands out in the crowd; a breathing soul in the middle of empty vessels. These people are such a haunting image in contrast to him. The way they refuse to smile or speak and simply stare at the walls a little drone-like. Very much soulless in his honest opinion. He looks up at the clock, black on white and ticking loudly, his hands approving one document and another with nothing more than a glance and waits for the minute’s hand to strike six. There is a temptation now, something to ease the gnawing boredom. He presses his lips into a thin line, contemplating and measuring the consequences before he slowly, slowly begins to hum a song under his breathe, quiet and for his own pleasure.

The knock is not instant. Not even when there is a loud beep, metal door sliding open and people starting to leave their cubicles – a flow of people in suits and silence.

It happens a little bit after that. When Sungjoo least expected.

There is a familiar, sharp pull in his head and Sungjoo staggers to the side of the pavement. He hold himself up with a few large gasp of air, everything spins like a ride on merry-go-round. The searing sting burns and his eyes rolled to the back of his lids from the sensation of his core tearing a piece of himself. He slides down, bringing his knee to his chest and cradles his head. There is a cackle ringing in his ears, flashing images of a crooked sneering smile and he groans in painful agony.

He should not have sang. Sungjoo whimpers and digs his fingers into the crown of his head, waiting for the voice to stop screaming in his ears.

“Please,” he pleads but none of the passer-by spare him a glance. “Please make it stop.”

Apathetic. This is what the living has become when pleasure became nothing but a curse.

... 

 

Everything is dark when Sungjoo finally drags himself to his apartment; the sky, the streets, his house and even his lovely, lovely Wenhan. 

Yibo is out for his occasional night delivery jobs and Wenhan is sat alone in the middle of the living room when Sungjoo flicks the light on. He did not budge and sinks deeper into the sofa, even the sudden brightness cannot blow those stormy clouds wrapped around him. There are empty wine bottles around Wenhan’s feet – some are toppled and some shattered – and his brooding aura emanates with dark menace, throwing Sungjoo off his own balance.

A red splotch colours the carpet near him, wine stain that will not wash away.

Sungjoo slowly approaches the other man, careful not to tread on the broken bits of glass.

“Wenhan,” he calls out in faux-cheers but Wenhan remains impassive, still deep inside the swirling mist of his thought and Sungjoo feels the itch to ease the scrunched lines on his forehead. He tries calling him once more but there is only a reply of silence that breaks Sungjoo a little inside. Impulsively, he climbs up on top of Wenhan, demanding his attention as he settles with caging Wenhan in between him.

Their legs are compressed in the constricted space, pressing heat between the fabrics of their clothing and Wenhan finally, finally focuses his eyes at Sungjoo, a realization forming in his head. He lets out a bleak statement of ‘ _you’re back.’_

“Yeah, I am” Sungjoo nods and scrunches his brow in response. But, before Wenhan could let any question being shoot down at him, he has his hands cradling Sungjoo’s face and smiles that bright smile. Sungjoo laughs a little. He did not have to ask, Wenhan will tell him. They always work with this kind of ease.

“I got fired.” Wenhan speaks, blunt, but Sungjoo catches that very slightest way the pain bleed in Wenhan’s eyes.

“Why?!” Sungjoo stutters in disbelief, “I mean you’re amazing and you even loved that shitty job.” He recoils when the words slips off, tactless, he can almost hear Yibo’s exasperation in his head.

“They need to cut down on budget. I was sick too quickly they said,” Wenhan laughs ironically. “Wants someone who isn’t as sick in the head like you and me.”

Sungjoo swallows the ball of emotion in his throat. He wants to stop this, his mind clambering to find a way to fix this and he hates his own self when all he can think of is outdated pranks. Wenhan only laughs at Sungjoo’s momentary lapse, his fingers loosening on Sungjoo and reaching for the half-empty wine bottle. He chugs it down with his eyes looking over the rim, a little teasing.

“Shut it,” Sungjoo whines but slides off from Wenhan, pulling the solemn and intoxicated man to his feet. Wenhan complies, getting up lazily and raises a brow at him. Sungjoo, however, kisses the annoyance away, his lips plush and his hands steady on Wenhan. It will cost him a bit of himself to kiss Wenhan this way but he is going mad anyway, so what’s the point?

“Let’s find Yibo.” There is a mischief in Sungjoo’s smile and Wenhan perks up at the mention of the younger man’s name.

 

Standing outside in the night, this house looks abandoned but both of them knew better. If people had squint harder, there are coloured smoke from the chimneys and lives pulsing underneath with the beats rising into a never ending crescendo. The building looks stout but it is a long network underground and they know this with all the credits to Yibo. Among the three of them, Yibo is the most radical, entertainment pulsing in his veins.

Never mind the fact that he sells his soul everyday so he could dance one more routine and it hurts Sungjoo to see him get spent even when he is so young.

Yibo peeks from the door, hairs dishevelled and perspiration a thin film on his face. At the sight of Wenhan leaning his weight on Sungjoo, a little out of himself, he frowns and disappear again behind the wooden panel. Sungjoo waits, shifting Wenhan to his left now that his right arm has gone asleep. His breathe fans Sungjoo’s face and it was the earthy scent of an old wine. Yibo re-emerges with one hand jammed into his jacket, he leans to the bouncer and slips in a few bank notes to the built man before dragging them away from his wonderland.

“I don’t like the bouncer.” Wenhan drawls, kicking the chipped gravel stone as Yibo leads them down, down the road hurriedly like a white rabbit with a pocket watch. He is a little sober now, peeling himself off Sungjoo as he concentrates on walking in a straight line. “They never let us in.”

“Nobody’s following us?” Yibo asks instead, taking a right turn and they enter the emptied industrial area. Sungjoo lets out a sound of affirmation.

A second after, they are in the middle of a network of back alley. The quiet moon bathe the small dank pathways, salvaging them from absolute darkness. Yibo stops and they did too, Wenhan leaning on the mouldy wall with his eyes closed. Yibo scans the area before he opens his palm slowly, a packet of blue pills and a square portable radio in them. Sungjoo gasps and snatches the metal box. Yibo snickers at his enthusiasm but let him off anyway.

Sungjoo begins to twist the knobs randomly, trying to find any illegal radio wave as Yibo pops two of those blue pills on his palm.

“Wenhan,” Yibo calls out slowly and Wenhan flutters his eyes open, his lips curving as Yibo closes the distance between them. Sungjoo watches them with bubble-gum sweetness affection blowing in his chest.

“What’s that?” Wenhan asks, his hands goes up to Yibo’s waist naturally. Yibo sniffs the alcohol from the other’s mouth and lets out a shaky breathe. The wine earlier seems to ferment sweeter in his mouth.

“Modified endorphins, should be safe with wine,” Yibo explains, “Seungyoun hid some in his locker. We’ll be dead if they know we didn’t sell of the supplies.”

He places the pills on his tongue, poking them out and leans toward Wenhan in an invitation.

Wenhan, then, dives in and indulge. The drug is a huge hit in his consciousness. A wave of calmness soaks him and he absorb the artificial sense of euphoria with gratitude. He is lighter in every sense and Yibo taste like all of his elements, shooting molten lava in Wenhan’s vein.

Sungjoo is still absorbed in his world and a channel finally hits the radio, it crackles for a split of a second and a song began to play softly. He smiles in satisfaction and clips the portable radio on his pocket when Wenhan suddenly reaches a hand blindly at him, his mouth still connecting him with Yibo. Sungjoo feels his breath hitches, taking in the small details of Wenhan going delirious and lax in the kiss. He holds on to Wenhan’s outstretched hand and his sanity a little tighter than usual.

Then, they pulls away.

Yibo turns his head to Sungjoo and smiles. It will cost them so much tonight but no one care.

“The slowest will have to make the bed tomorrow,” Wenhan suddenly speaks up, his head lolling on Yibo’s shoulder.

Sungjoo challenges them with a smug smile. “Are you sure, slowpokes?”

Yibo glares at Sungjoo with the fiery competitiveness licking his young-blooded nature. They shared a look and breaks into a run in the same beat.

 

The songs are liquid in their ears when their hearts are beating loud in their ribcage. They gasp, breathe short and floating through the night absolutely weightless in this stretching moment; stumbling and screaming at each other and thousand smiles brightening the galaxies in Wenhan’s eyes. It burns in them, explosion and explosion of joy and pleasure.

Wind is whipping their hair back and they are free for a moment. Just very, very free. 

Wenhan arrives last at the roof top of their apartment. Sungjoo and Yibo already sprawling spread-eagle on the cemented floor, panting exhaustion in tune with music blaring softly and enticing in the background. Yibo rewards him with a mocking jeer and Wenhan takes his revenge with flopping all over him and eliciting a pained scream from the younger.

Sungjoo chortles and fall even deeper at the sight of the two, flawed but perfect in their own low fidelity.

Wenhan is a little tipped and smiling wide, bringing about the swell of his cheekbones and Yibo is already on his feet and absorbed in his dance with his perfect execution and glazed eyes. Sungjoo and Wenhan’s voices overlap into a harmony that Yibo dance to. However, he stops his dance midway and with his grace of a panther, Yibo crawls to Wenhan and Wenhan with his easy smile, nudges Yibo with his nose. They unravel each other all over again before Sungjoo starts to whine and tugs Yibo to him instead.

Wenhan lets Yibo off him and Yibo kisses Sungjoo fully, falling all over on top of Sungjoo. Their kiss is more of a mess but Sungjoo does not mind at all because he needs his fair share of both of them tonight.

There is an unexplained melancholy in Sungjoo, lodged between his ribcage, trapped and confused. He shrugs them off and sometime in between their talks and touches, they fall asleep carelessly on the rooftop.

 

The sunrise rip off the cool night blanketing Sungjoo and replace it with a warm, glowing sky. Something is a little off and misplaced but he is still drowsy with sleep to pin down the atmosphere. Sungjoo finds nothing odd until he looks up and all that he sees is a hue of gold and a tinge of grey solemnness, a scene straight out from movie screens that Yibo used to smuggle for them from his night jobs.

Time slows down as if to mock Sungjoo’s incapability.

Wenhan is standing at the edge of the railing, a sneering smile on his face and Sungjoo knows in a snap that his last drop of sanity has dried up. He wants to stop him but a force is holding him back and he struggles to break free, screaming at Yibo who is staring dumbly at Wenhan as if he had lost his hope. Sungjoo is still glued helplessly at his spot.

Wenhan cackles, waves at them and leaps off.

His body falling gracelessly until he hits the ground with a crunch, his cackling only an echo of death. Yibo screams and turns as white as parched paper, falling on his knees with disbelief. Sungjoo feels the surge of emotion stampeding on his chest with such unbearable weight and he pushes himself shakily, walking with a numb heart down the squeaky stairs until he is standing infront of their apartment’s door.

This is not real.

Wenhan is still alive, Sungjoo convinces himself.

Wenhan is still alive and when Sungjoo opens this door he will be standing in the middle of the living room, clad in his basketball short and calling Sungjoo silly for imagining him dead before asking him to wake Yibo up for breakfast.

Sungjoo is sure of that and he slowly pushes the door open.

The apartment is empty and Sungjoo breaks down, grief rippling inside him until it morphs into a tsunami state of devastation. When he finally collects himself enough to walk to their shared bedroom, he finds their bed made and he jolts awake.

... 

 

[jaymes young-i'll be good](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mkMVyw-7avI)

 

“What were you thinking?” Yibo seethes and Sungjoo fiddles with the edge of blanket between his fingers. He is admitted to a hospital and Yibo was there, hands clasped and praying next to his bed when he woke up. 

Sungjoo looks down and whispers, “I saw Wenhan.”

Yibo is quick to hide his feelings but the mourning still rams into him like a train-wreck, Sungjoo manages to catch the ugly monster flicks in him before Yibo could recollect himself.

“You’re not really seeing him, Sungjoo. He’s just your memories,” Yibo runs a hand through his hair and exhales a frustrated sigh. “Let’s just stop this. It’s been a week. You’re killing me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that when you’re not even half sorry.” Yibo laughs, turning his back on Sungjoo. Anger is apparent in his furrowed brows and with nothing else left to say, Yibo left Sungjoo in the whirring silence of his white room with nothing but, “you’re a fucking asshole.”

 

Sungjoo is truly alone after that.

Yibo did not visit him at all, leaving Sungjoo fully at the care of cold strangers. He shrivels like leaves in a cold winter, curling into his own cocoon a little at a time and even more so when those strangers touch him. His heart is painted a shade of blue and his life becomes barren; their soft touches, late night talks and movie dates, bad coffee in the morning and secret jokes becomes a distant memory. Too far to recall and a little too surreal to be true, but he knows it happened because his tears-soaked heart is his own proof and testament. Everything is bleak. A white static of noise, meaningless.

Unconsciously, Sungjoo begins to sing. He begins to see them in his head, catching a glimpse of Wenhan smiling and Yibo’s annoyance and all of those good times. The three of them did not seem too far-fetched now when they are alive in Sungjoo’s head.

He becomes addicted and everything turns into a cycle he cannot breaks away from.

Sungjoo sings, goes bonkers until he is sedated by the doctors and he wakes up to sing again. He only need to see them again and again, never mind that it always end with that sneer smile, that scream of fear and disbelief and that cackle. Nothing can change that. But he can relive it again when he sings so, he did with the cost of himself and he is very much willing.

This time Sungjoo wakes up with dread turning into a bitter taste in his tongue and his lovers in his eyes. He did not wish to wake up. But, then Yibo is standing at the foot of his bed and Sungjoo thought he is dreaming still.

“What are you doing here?” Sungjoo bleeds into a broken whine. He does not like this. Yibo is quiet, eyes locked to the floor and obscured by his long blonde locks. He wants to see him, wants to know what he is thinking.

“Wang Yibo!” He rises his voice and Yibo slowly looks up, his eyes red and glisten with undecipherable wreckage.

Sometimes, Sungjoo forgets that he is still too young and this world is not a pleasant place for them. Yibo brings his hand to his face and wipes the drying tear staining his cheeks. There is a knife in his hands, the sharp edge reflecting light from the fluorescent lamp but Sungjoo fears nothing. This is their Yibo after all.

“I killed him, didn’t I?” His voice is thick, hiccups in between his words. “If I didn’t give him those stuff that night he’ll still be alive today, isn’t?”

Sungjoo bites on the guilt, stench of decaying blood hitting his senses and he nods. It is very selfish of him but he needs someone else to shoulder that very blame. Yibo already beaten himself up so much for that, it would only be fair if he really is the guilty party. It will only be fair. 

“I’m sorry,” Yibo breaks even more and Sungjoo can almost see the crack on him. “I didn’t meant to.”

“Come here.”

Yibo follows all his nuances. He climbs up the white, pristine hospital bed and when he hovers above Sungjoo, his tears falls like dark clouds and every droplet hits Sungjoo like bullets. They only have each other now.

“Wenhan ask me to stop you from singing.” Yibo sits down on Sungjoo, his legs between Sungjoo’s sides. His hands planted on Sungjoo’s chest, holding himself up and the heel of the knife digging into their skin. "He told me to, before he jumped. I don't know how."

“We all know how, Yibo. You do too.”

“Stop singing,” Yibo sobs out, “don’t want to lose you too.”

He presses the knife on Sungjoo’s lips, his hands are shaking violently, before he slips it in between Sungjoo’s lips. The knife is metallic and cold on his tongue and it grazed him a little. Yibo stills and search for Sungjoo’s eyes but there is nothing but warmness.

“Do it,” and Yibo did.

It hurts immensely but Sungjoo did not mind the pain when Yibo still kisses him all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. this story is set in a very, very ridiculously complicated alternative universe so hit me up at twitter if you have question: [@littleanonnie](http://www.twitter.com/littleanonnie)  
> 2\. abusive relationship is unhealthy and not romantic please do not be influenced. get help if you are involved in one.  
> 3\. lastly, i hope you enjoy this story


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